The stupendous, fantastic, exhilarating adventure was over; and he was back in the weapon shop of Clay.
He couldn’t get over the wonder of it—this great and fascinating organization established here in the very heart of a ruthless civilization, a civilization that had in a few brief weeks stripped him of everything he possessed.
With a deliberate will, he stopped that glowing flow of thought. A dark frown wrinkled his solidly built face; he said:
“The . . . judge—” Fara hesitated over the name, frowned again, annoyed at himself, then went on: “The judge said that, to re-establish myself I would have to—”
“Before we go into that,” said the old man quietly, “I want you to examine the blue folder you brought with you.”
“Folder?” Fara echoed blankly. It took a long moment to remember that he had picked up a folder from the table in Room 474.
He studied the list of company names with a gathering puzzlement, noting that the name of Automatic Atomic Motor Repair Shops was well down among the A’s, and the Fifth Interplanetary Bank only one of several great banks included. Fara looked up finally:
“I don’t understand,” he said; “are these the companies you have had to act against?”
The silver-haired man smiled grimly, shook his head. “That is not what I mean. These firms constitute only a fraction of the eight hundred thousand companies that are constantly in our books.”
He smiled again, humorlessly: “These companies all know that, because of us, their profits on paper bear no relation to their assets. What they don’t know is how great the difference really is; and, as we want a general improvement in business morals, not merely more skillful scheming to outwit us, we prefer them to remain in ignorance.”
He paused, and this time he gave Fara a searching glance, said at last: “The unique feature of the companies on this particular list is that they are every one wholly owned by Empress Isher.”
He finished swiftly: “In view of your past opinions on that subject, ~ do not expect you to believe me.”
Fara stood as still as death, for—he did believe with unquestioning conviction, completely, finally. The amazing, the unforgivable thing was that all his life he had watched the march of ruined men into the oblivion of poverty and disgrace—and blamed them.
Fara groaned. “I’ve been like a madman,” he said. “Everything the empress and her officials did was right. No friendship, no personal relationship could survive with me that did not include belief in things as they were. I suppose if I started to talk against the empress I would receive equally short shrift.”
“Under no circumstances,” said the old man grimly, “must you say anything against her majesty. The weapon shops will not countenance any such words, and will give no further aid to anyone who is so indiscreet. The reason is that, for the moment, we have reached an uneasy state of peace with the Imperial government. We wish to keep it that way; beyond that I will not enlarge on our policy.
“I am permitted to say that the last great attempt to destroy the weapon shops was made seven years ago, when the glorious Innelda Isher was twenty-five years old. That was a secret attempt, based on a new invention; and failed by purest acident because of our sacrifice of a man from seven thousand years in the past. That may sound mysterious to you, but I will not explain.
“The worst period was reached some forty years ago when every person who was discovered receiving aid from us was murdered in some fashion. You may be surprised to know that your father-in-law was among those assassinated at that time.”
“Creel’s father!” Fara gasped. “But—”
He stopped. His brain was reeling; there was such a rush of blood to his head that for an instant he could hardly see.
“But,” he managed at last, “it was reported that he ran away with another woman.”
“They always spread a vicious story of some kind,” the old man said; and Fara was silent, stunned.
The other went on: “We finally put a stop to their murders by killing the three men from the top down, excluding the royal family, who gave the order for the particular execution involved. But we do not again want that kind of bloody murder.
“Nor are we interested in any criticism of our toleration of so much that is evil. It is important to understand that we do not interfere in the main stream of human existence. We right wrongs; we act as a barrier between the people and their more ruthless exploiters. Generally speaking, we help only honest men; that is not to say that we do not give assistance to the less scrupulous, but only to the extent of selling them guns—which is a very great aid indeed, and which is one of the reasons why the government is relying almost exclusively for its power on an economic chicanery.
“In the four thousand years since the brilliant genius \‘Valter S. DeLany invented the vibration process that made the weapon shops possible, and laid down the first principles of weapon shop political philosophy, we have watched the tide of government swing backward and forward between democracy under a limited monarchy to complete tyranny. And we have discovered one thing:
“People always have the kind of government they want. When they want change, they must change it. As always we shall remain an incorruptible core—and I mean that literally; we have a psychological machine that never lies about a man’s character—I repeat, an incorruptible core of human idealism, devoted to relieving the ills that arise inevitably under any form of government.
“But now—your problem. It is very simple, really. You must fight, as all men have fought since the beginning of time for what they valued, for their just rights. As you know, the Automatic Repair people removed all your machinery and tools within an hour of foreclosing on your shop. This material was taken to Ferd, and then shipped to a great warehouse on the coast.
“We recovered it, and with our special means of transportation have now replaced the machines in your shop. You will accordingly go there and—”
Fara listened with a gathering grimness to the instructions, nodded finally, his jaw clamped tight.
“You can count on me,” he said curtly. “I’ve been a stubborn man in my time; and though I’ve changed sides, I haven’t changed that.”
Going outside was like returning from life to—death; from hope to—reality.
Fara walked along the quiet streets of Clay at darkest night. For the first time it struck him that the weapon shop Information Center must be halfway around the world, for it had been day, brilliant day.
The picture vanished as if it had never existed, and he grew aware again, preternaturally aware of the village of Glay asleep all around him. Silent, peaceful—yet ugly, he thought, rigly with the ugliness of evil enthroned.
He thought: The right to buy weapons—and his heart swelled into his throat; the tears came to his eyes.
He wiped his vision clear with the back of his hand, thought of Creel’s long dead father, and strode on, without shame. Tears were good for an angry man.
The shop was the same, but the hard metal padlock yielded before the tiny, blazing, supernal power of the revolver. One flick of fire; the metal dissolved—and he was inside.
It was dark, too dark to see, but Fara did not turn on the lights immediately. He fumbled across to the window control, turned the windows to darkness vibration, and then clicked on the lights.
He gulped with awful relief. For the machines, his precious tools that he had seen carted away within hours after the bailiff’s arrival, were here again, ready for use.
Shaky from the pressure of his emotion, Fara called Creel on the telestat. It took a little while for her to appear; and she was in her dressing robe. When she saw who it was she turned a dead white.
“Fara, oh, Fara, I thought—”
He cut her off grimly: “Creel, I’ve been to the weapon shop. I want you to do this: go straight to your mother. I’m here at my shop. I’m going to stay here day and night until it’s settled that I stay. . . . I shall go home later for some food and clothing, but I want you to be gone by then. Is that clear?”
Color was coming back into her lean, handsome face. She said: “Don’t you bother coming home, Fara. I’ll do everything necessary. I’ll pack all that’s needed into the carplane, including a folding bed. We’ll sleep in the back room of the shop.”
Morning came palely, but it was ten o’clock before a shadow darkened the open door; and Constable Jor came in. He looked shamefaced:
“I’ve got an order here for your arrest,” he said.